The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Kathi Wolfe

BREAKING UP WITH MYSELF

It's not you,
it's me.
You're so special,
anyone
with Stephen Hawking's
brains,
Warren Buffett's dough,
who eats
cheeseburgers in paradise
with vegans,
would be lucky
to have you.
I could live
with the black bear
dancing with your muse
in your dreams,
but Mother Teresa
and Dr. Seuss
bowling for dollars
was over the top.
The hard-as-a-rock
ambition,
incessant praying
to the God
you did not believe in,
were only human.
But the name dropping,
the meta moments,
nearly did me in.
Still,
the jokes
only you understood,
the tingle of your skin,
the romance of your ego
and your id.
Bygones can't be bygones,
but could we still
be friends?





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